Beneath the Spotlight. A Destiel Story

Round Two

NOT MINE CREDIT TO: slayxmish on Instagram
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Castiel sucks in a breath when he wakes up, suddenly remembering the previous night's events and slowly opens his eyes. Dean's room is dimly lit, thanks to the heavy curtains around the small basement window, which he doesn’t remember being closed last night—he must have passed out before Dean shut them. He turns his head to the side slightly and sees Dean, still asleep and solid beside him. He slowly reaches for the edge of the covers and pulls them off of him, sitting up as lightly as he can. He puts his glasses on and grabs his jeans from the floor, putting his phone into one of the pockets as he pulls them on, and searches for his shirt.

It’s too dark for Castiel to see anything resembling his shirt. Dean’s room isn’t exactly spotless; there’s a few piles of clothing throughout the room and Castiel was obviously too busy to notice them last night.

Fuck. Where did Dean throw it?

He doesn’t want to wake Dean up; he feels like he’s already being disturbing enough by walking around aimlessly throughout Dean’s room. He steps on a piece of fabric and he picks it up. It’s not his shirt but it is a shirt nonetheless. He pulls it on and tries not to revel in the fact that it’s Dean’s and it smells like him. He runs a hand through his hair to try and flatten it.

It’s no use.

Castiel wraps his hands around the door handle and gently opens the door. He looks back at Dean through the crack as he closes it and makes his way up the stairs as quietly as he can. He glances around and notices the people passed out throughout the basement. He somehow manages to find his shoes in the pile behind the door and he pulls them on inelegantly, nearly tripping when he opens the door.

As he leaves the house, Castiel takes his phone out of his pocket and calls a cab. He gives the address a couple blocks from where he actually is, and starts walking. The morning is cool and damp—the borrowed t-shirt doing nothing for his uncovered arms, and he realizes that he left his coat at the bar. He hopes Gabriel took it home.

It’s hardly 7:00 AM and Castiel is so tired that his eyes hurt. He rubs them from beneath his glasses and sighs. He’s made it to the place where he needs the cab driver to pick him up. His phone is at 7% and he knows there’s no point in wasting it so he stuffs it back into his pocket and waits.

“That’s not your shirt,” is the first thing Gabriel says when Castiel walks through the front door. Castiel is still amazed with having the luck of not losing his keys last night. Gabriel is sitting on the couch with his MacBook on his lap.

“I couldn’t find mine,” Castiel replies simply, as if it’s something normal. Maybe it is for some people, but it’s definitely not normal for him. He toes his shoes off and walks into the kitchen to grab himself something to drink. He feels like shit, his mouth is so dry that it’s hard to speak, and he isbeyond hungry.

“And why couldn’t you find it?” Gabriel teases.

Castiel looks over and stares at his brother, frowning. Gabriel knows, he’s just being a dick. A sly smile creeps up on Gabriel’s face and Castiel rolls his eyes. Cas drinks an entire glass of water before he speaks.

“Maybe because it was dark and I didn’t want to cause a scene trying to find it.” He places the empty glass in the sink.

“Stop censoring for my sake, Cas.” Gabriel’s tone suddenly becomes heavier. “What happened last night? I was worried about you.”

Castiel sighs and comes around the couch. He sits on the opposite side of Gabriel and rests an ankle over his knee. He picks at a hangnail and frowns again.